


Hope is Shameless...

by Eruanne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Forced Marriage, M/M, Marriage Law Challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:05:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eruanne/pseuds/Eruanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...It brazenly appears in the darkest and strangest places.</p><p>A law is passed, a war is lost, and life becomes nearly unbearable. There is little chance of recovery for the wizarding world unless someone chooses to stand against the darkness. SS/HG</p><p> </p><p>My take on the Marriage Law challenge. AU. Spoilers up to book 5. This story starts in the summer before 6th year. Underage warning because many of the affected characters in here are 17, which is of age in the wizarding world, but not in the muggle world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first post on AO3. I've published part of this story ages ago on fanfiction.net under BlackHoleBeliever.
> 
> This work has not been seen by a beta reader or a brit-picker, so any and all mistakes are my own. apologies.

Thirty days was a long time to come to terms with the end of your life. At least, that what the Ministry of Magic thought. Thirty days. Seven hundred and twenty hours. Forty-three thousand, two hundred minutes. The counting gave her something to think about besides her fate.

Hermione didn't like being told who she could and couldn't marry. She didn't like being singled out because of her muggle birth. Unfortunately, the Ministry didn't care about her likes and dislikes and had passed the  _Unification and Birthrate Stimulus Law_ , which was a fancy way of saying _"Pure-bloods are losing their magic. Bollocks, now what?"_

She wasn't a fool. She'd been reading the wizarding papers religiously all summer long. The parchment had arrived that morning, carried by a pompous-looking black Ministry owl. Hermione had read it, stopped, read it again, rubbed her eyes. "I can't believe they actually did it."

Then she dropped the letter and marched upstairs to her room. When she had calmed down enough to show her face again, her parents were talking in low voices.

"Did you read it, Jane?" Her father's soft baritone was clearly heard from Hermione's perch on the stairs.

"No, but you're pale enough that I'm not sure I want to." Her mother was already close to tears, from the sound of it. Hermione sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her dad was being frighteningly calm, which meant he was furious. Her mother would be in hysterics if she read the damn thing.

She emerged from the stairwell with a subdued air. "It's from the Ministry of Magic."

Jane Granger looked up. "What on earth for?"

"Mum, I'm being forced to marry."

Jane's shriek of indignation was heard two houses away.

* * *

"Cow Tails."

With a creak and a groan, the stairs began to move and Severus Snape swept into the Headmaster's office. Black robes sweeping wide enough to knock several of Dumbledore's gadgets off their shelves, he crossed his arms and snarled. "What on earth could be so important that you've removed me from my summertime research at eleven in the evening?"

Dumbledore didn't say a word, but simply gestured toward a seat and offered him a lemon drop. The twinkle was disturbingly absent from his eyes. "Sit."

* * *

The flock of owls that arrived at the Burrow was startling to say the least. When a single black bird perched in front of each and every Weasley child, Molly sighed. "I had hoped they wouldn't go through with it."

Ginny opened hers with confusion. "But I'm not going to be of age for another year!" Her eyes shot across the parchment, moving faster with each line. Soon, even her freckles were pale. "I'm an exception to the age limitation because of my unusually high OWL scores in my year," she said tonelessly. Her face pinched and she bolted from the room, muttering about feeling sick.

* * *

" _Boy, what did I say about these ruddy birds?!"_

Harry sighed and pulled the letter from the black owl. Uncle Vernon was in top bellowing form today.

The Ministry seal caught his attention. Oh, dear lord. What had they done to him  _this_  time?

* * *

The black owls flooded the wizarding world that day, carrying a simple but effective missive:

_Dear sir or madam,_

_After much debate, the Ministry of Magic has passed into law the Unification and Birthrate Stimulus Act. This law is such that any witch or wizard between the ages of seventeen and seventy must find a husband or wife within the thirty days after receiving this letter. Those of true wizard birth on both sides for four generations (hereafter referred to as "pure-blooded") may petition for the right to marry any eligible witch or wizard of muggle-born or "half-blood" status. Those who receive their first petition have thirty days from that date to either set a date for marriage (the arrangement for which is outlined in the attached pamphlet) or to turn in their wand and remove themselves from magical society. If more than one petition is received during this period, the petitioned may choose from among them. The couple, after having wed, is then expected to conceive a child within two years of their wedding day._

_Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials._

_Sincerely,_

_Gregory Thertius_

_Ministry of Magic Birthrate Stimulus Oversight Committee_

* * *

The Malfoys wasted no time. Draco was penning letters that evening.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew was chortling with delight as he pictured capturing a young and attractive bride.

* * *

The Weasleys were clustered around Ginny, offering what comfort they could. It wasn't until Ron asked "Hey, has anyone heard from Hermione?" that they thought of her.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Hermione didn't get any sleep that night. Her mattress was determined to make her even more miserable than she already was. It wasn't hard to figure out that the Death Eaters would lining up to win the best friend of Harry Potter as their unwilling bride, and she really didn't want to think about what that would entail. She moaned and flipped her pillow over to the cool side.

 

Two days ago, she had been thrilled to be named Head Girl. Two days ago, her main concern was her over-the-break Transfiguration essay she was doing for extra credit. Two days ago, she had been happily thinking about an easy future with a loving husband...and that was one of those "someday" things that she would occasionally ponder, not an actual plan.

 

Now? Now she was doomed.

 

The Ministry letter had been crumpled into a ball, and Crookshanks was happily batting it across her bedroom floor. Good riddance,   she thought. She wasn't sure if this was a legitimate act of the Ministry or if Voldemort and his minions had leaned on the wizengamot enough to make them pass the law. Neither one would surprise her. What would she do?

 

Her first option, of course, would be to marry one of the Weasley boys. They were pure-bloods, after all, and would be more than willing to help her. Unfortunately, she doubted any of them would be able to survive the machinations of the Death Eaters. They would be dead before the honeymoon.

 

That thought pulled her up short. She had studied the details of the law in depth, and was well aware of the consummation and conception clauses. She had never gone that far with anyone. She had gotten close with Viktor, and closer with Peter Gambol, a Ravenclaw one year older than she was whom she had dated toward the end of last term. She had discovered, however, that boys her own age were rather interested in being more physical than she was comfortable with.

 

She sighed and sat up, giving in to the fact that she wouldn't get any sleep tonight. As soon as she shoved her feet into her fuzzy purple slippers, she heard a   tap-tap-tap   on her window. A handsome screech owl fluttered in and settled on her desk, offering her the letter tied to his leg. She didn't recognize the bird at all, but she fed it an owl treat from the tiny bag she kept on hand for Hedwig's occasional visits and took the letter. The bird didn't leave.

 

"Are you waiting for a reply?" she asked. He simple resettled himself and perched on the back of her chair. "I'll take that as a yes."

 

The seal on the letter was silver wax and had an elegant "S" surrounded by ivy. It looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place where she'd seen it. The parchment was dry and expensive, and once she saw the spiky handwriting, she nearly gasped.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

 

_No doubt the arrival of a personal letter from your Potions Master is causing you no small degree of confusion and anxiety. Rest assured, this is not my intention. I am writing instead to inquire whether you have received one of the ridiculous letters from the Ministry. If you have, your over-active mind has already made the connection to the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters._

 

_It is true that you are in grave danger. The Death Eaters have been given a direct order: whoever can secure the "Mudblood friend of the Boy-Who-Lived" will be elevated among our ranks to the Inner Circle. I cannot give you a lesson on the rank system of Death Eaters now, girl, so bite your tongue and let me finish._

 

_Suffice it to say that any of the Weasley children would be woefully inadequate to protect you, and even if they did, it would all be for naught because they would simply bore you to death. If it is amenable to you, I shall send a petition for your hand to the Ministry. Before you protest, Miss Granger, let me remind you that this is by far one of your best choices for several reasons, not the least of which is your continued existence on this earth._

 

_I can hear your hot-headed protests even now, Miss Granger. Cease them at once, and reply as soon as you finish reading. I wish to meet with you at your earliest convenience to discuss details. Erebus will wait for your return letter._

 

_Regards,_

 

_Severus E. Snape_

 

She sat heavily on her bed. Crookshanks hopped up beside her and  mewled   for attention, so she scratched him absent-mindedly as she thought. When she glanced up, the owl was still waiting patiently.

 

"Erebus, eh?" she said. Typical of Snape to name his owl after the Greek god of darkness. He was very well behaved, though, and very elegant for such a large bird.

 

She picked up a quill, grabbed some parchment, and penned a reply. As Erebus flew away, she wondered if it was too cruel to wish for lightning to strike him down before he reached his owner.

* * *

 

 

Malfoy Manor was full of the opulence of several generations' worth of undeserved wealth. The polished black marble floors gleamed in the torchlight as cloaked figure after cloaked figure apperated into the foyer. The low murmur of voices came from an adjacent ballroom.

 

Snape headed that direction, for once grateful for the white mask he wore. His cheek was blistered and it itched madly. When he had returned from his meeting with Dumbledore, he had gone immediately to his desk to write a letter to Hermione Granger. It wasn't until he had finished that he remembered the unsupervised and untested potion still brewing in his lab. In his haste, he banged open the door far too forcefully, unsettling the volatile concoction. The explosion would have injured him far worse had it not been for the self-preserving damping spells surrounding his lab.

 

He took his place among the assembled. His particular rank left him halfway back from the Dark Lord's throne, but directly in front rather than to either side. He sank to his knees and waited.

 

Beside him, Macnair wheezed, "Any ideas?"

 

Snape didn't have to ask what he meant. No one knew the reason their master had called this meeting, and no one had the courage to ask. "I'm sure we shall find out momentarily."

 

As if Snape's words had summoned him, Voldemort himself strode through the room to his throne. Even with his long and powerful stride, he radiated a snake-like grace. His red eyes scanned the room in silence for a long minute. Every Death Eater had his or her head bowed in respect. Those in front knelt on one knee, while those in the middle (like Snape himself) were on two knees. In the back of the room and on the fringes of the group were the lowest ranked, either because they were new or because they were untrustworthy. These were forced to stay prostrate, face to the floor, until the conclusion of the meeting. Snape remembered those days, and his knees ached in memory.

 

"Thertius!" Voldemort's voice was so sudden that his followers flinched as one entity. To Snape's left and slightly back, a man stood.

 

"My lord." He sounded nervous.

 

"Gregory Thertius, you have failed to attend these meetings for over a month. When we are finally   graced   with your presence, I learn that you have not completed your assignment. What have you to say?" Voldemort's eyes never wavered from Thertius's. It was an unsettling feeling, leaving your mind open to the most evil and vile creature to walk the earth. Snape didn't pity the man at all.

 

"My lord," the Death Eater knelt again as he attempted to avert as much pain as possible. "Your law has passed, and the Ministry is playing directly into your hands as we speak. I'm afraid I don't understand."

 

"Choice, my dear Thertius!" the Dark Lord bellowed. "You failed to   complete   your assignment. The petitioned mudbloods have a   choice   in whom they can marry. Are you so completely incompetent as to allow this? You gave them a means of escape!"

 

"M-m-my lord..."

 

" SILENCE!"

 

The only sound for a long, tense moment was Nagini's scales sliding over the marble floor toward her master. Voldemort stroked her long body as if she were a lover before smiling widely. Thertius whimpered.

 

"Since I'm feeling just as generous as you are, Gregory..." he said, tapping his wand contemplatively against his thin white lips, "I'll give   you   a choice."

 

He called forth Macnair and Eric Normand, both of whom had reputations for being utterly vicious in completely different ways: Macnair loved to let his victims bleed to death from hundreds of mild slicing hexes; Normand got his thrills from the screams of his victims as he violated them before cutting their throat (he had no preference when it came to gender, either).

 

"You're going to die tonight, Gregory." Voldemort delivered this news in the same tone he might use to discuss quidditch scores. "But you now have a choice. Do you wish to die by Macnair's wand, or by Normand's knife?"

 

Thertius was trembling at this point. "M-m-my l-l-lo-lord... please!"

 

"I'll give you thirty seconds to decide."

 

The man was sobbing now, and his shallow breaths echoed in the large ballroom.

 

"Twenty seconds. Tick-tock, Mr. Thertius. Don't worry; we'll send your body to your family straight away."

 

Thertius muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Dear God, save me."

 

"Ten."

 

More sobs.

 

"Nine."

 

He began to beg aloud.

 

"Eight."

 

Macnair fingered his wand.

 

"Seven."

 

Normand licked his lips.

 

"Six."

 

Finally, Thertius deflated.   "Alright!"   he shouted, "Macnair. I'll take Macnair. Please, just get it over with."

 

Disappointed, Normand took his place in the crowd once more.

 

The screams of Gregory Thertius echoed through Malfoy Manor until the small hours of morning.

 


End file.
